Chances Are
by heechul
Summary: Chances are, tomorrow would be different. But today, this is all they need. RoyRizacentric drabbles.


**A/N: **Late birthday present for the darling fireblazie. I love you, sweetie! Check her stories out. I recommend Malady.

Anyone who actually reads this fic, and this note, would you like to tell me which your favorite drabble was? Well, wannabe drabble, anyways.

**Disclaimer: **Belongs to all respective creators, mangaka, authors, artists, whatever tickles your fancy.

**Chances Are**

**i. Fascination**

Riza didn't have her title for nothing. She knew, modesty aside, that she was the best female sniper in the military, maybe even (arguably though), the best. She wouldn't say she had an _obsession _with guns. She had a…_fascination _with them.

Likewise, she mused, she supposed she had a bit of a _fascination _for Roy as well.

**ii. Flowers**

Not exactly a feminine woman, Riza regarded February 14th with quiet scorn. Vocally, she disliked the flowers, the pink, the red, the candy, the mere sight of couples holding hands making her heart wrench. What she didn't say though, that secretly, she was grateful for the large bouquet of lilies that she found on her desk every February 14th.

Roy Mustang, though, always denied it, although his ears burned red and he diligently did all his paperwork for a day, grateful that he could hide his face behind _something._

**iii. Rain**

There was a reason that Roy Mustang hated rain. And perhaps it was Riza who had pointed it out to him best. He was useless in the rain, he knew. And sometimes he wondered why he didn't have more useful alchemic tendencies. Sometimes, he even wished for the Elric brothers' skills.

In the end though, he knew that he was angry because, not for the first time, _he _wasn't able to protect _her._

**iv. Clocks**

Riza disliked clocks with a passion. She wasn't too sure why, she just knew she did.

_Of course _it didn't have anything to do with the fact that he was always late and she counted the minutes, each moment that passed filling her with the fear that something had happened to him without her by his side.

**v. Music**

She wasn't so sentimental as to believe that they had "their song". He wasn't so stupid as to think she would allow such immaturity.

But sometimes, a certain song will play, and he will disentangle himself from his latest conquest and she will turn her head to him and tell him he doesn't need to be here. He always silences her with a light brush of lips.

**vi. Tears**

Truthfully, Riza Hawkeye couldn't remember a time she cried over something serious. She could remember crying as a child, because of a skinned knee, although the Riza Hawkeye now would never admit to having once felt such weakness.

So when Lust tells her that Roy is killed, nestled between hatred and sorrow, a little emotion flits. So when she sees him, although bruised, far from killed, she takes the full force of his anger, but later, when she is supposed to be asleep, _maybe _a few tears of happiness trickle out.

**vii. Purity**

She knows that despite what he says, one day, he'll find himself a woman who was feminine and pretty and soft and kind, one whose hands had never been smeared with the blood of countless others. She knows that one day, she will have to see a happy him and someone else, a pure _lady_, someone who knew how to make him happy.

But inside, she still wishes that maybe, just maybe, she might have a chance. And that maybe, he'll love her, even though she is far from the picture of purity.

**viii. Fear**

There was, perhaps, one thing that Roy Mustang truly feared. There was, perhaps, one thing that Riza Hawkeye truly feared.

Roy Mustang would never admit it, but he is scared of losing Riza and Riza Hawkeye would never admit it, but she is scared of losing Roy.

**ix. Dreams**

Roy Mustang dreams of many things, but there is one thing that he dreams of most often. He dreams of _her. _And maybe it's just him, but when her eyes meet his, he feels something in his heart, something that feels suspiciously like hope, but is squashed immediately, as she regards him with a cool nod.

Oh well. At least he has his dreams.

**x. Ten**

_Nine times today, _she notes angrily, her head snapping up to meet her colonel's eyes on her. Unable to hold her tongue, she finally snaps.

"Sir," she begins, with a touch of frustration in her voice, "why must you continue staring at me? It can get rather disconcerting at times."

Immediately his eyes snap back to the growing mountain of work at his desk, the very picture of a little boy who has been caught stealing cookies right before dinner. Riza feels a slight twinge of guilt, but just makes a sigh of resignation.

"Sorry, Hawkeye." Riza looks up with the smallest of smiles, forgiving him without words.

Ten minutes pass, however, and again, she feels his eyes on her.

_Ten, _she thinks angrily.

**xi. Stalemate**

It has become a bit of a tradition for them. What started out as an impulse has led to a game of chess every Sunday. Some celebrate the holy day of the week with church and rekindling of beliefs. For both him and her, beliefs have been simply whittled down the basest of things: the want to live. And sometimes, depending on how her week goes, she lets him win, setting herself up for a fall. And sometimes, depending on what happens on his way there, he lets her win, eyes softening at the sight of her pretty hands moving deftly over the board.

Tonight, they are both angry, and there is no sympathy here. They move their pieces over the board, his momentary happiness at finally capturing her queen is quenched when next turn, she deftly captures his queen with a bishop he swears was not there the moment before.

Finally, it's just them and their kings. Their eyes meet and reaching out, they both tip over their respective kings. Unsaid, it hangs in the air between them, over the assorted black and white pieces and tensions left behind.

_Stalemate._

**xii. Midnight**

He has a strange habit. Sometimes, at least once a week, he wakes up, with ten minutes to midnight and he stays up, watching the clock tick by, until it strikes midnight, where he feels the utter deepness of relief because now he can be sure that it's not really all a dream, and he has, inside, conquered another day, with another dawning on him.

**xiii. Mornings**

Riza Hawkeye is not a morning person. She has never worked well in the mornings, the sun seeming too bright, and besides, the sun was always a hindrance to her marksmanship. Many a good shot had been strayed, merely because of the sun's interference in her eyes. Today is no different and she sits by her desk, growing more frustrated, eyeing the pile of paperwork beside her and wonders if she sets fire to it, she can pin it on her colonel. The aforementioned colonel walks by, and deposits her usual cup of black coffee on her desk with his usual, brisk,

"Morning, Hawkeye."

Somehow, her morning just got a little better.

**xiv. Interlude**

It is perhaps, a momentary lapse in their everyday lives. It started out ordinary, as she held out a stack of more papers for him to read and sign. But when he takes them, he makes a fatal mistake. He makes the mistake of looking up into her eyes, and his hand stills, brushing just over her fingers. And it is perhaps, just a momentary lapse, a brief interlude in their everyday lives, but it is also a moment worth keeping.

**xv. Location**

The day he gets shipped off to Central _without _her, tried to be an ordinary day. It tried many disguises before giving up, letting the emotions, pure and simple wash over. The day he gets shipped off the Central, before he leaves, he stops by her desk and gives her a folded piece of paper, dropping it into her hand.

She looks at it curiously, and then at him. He turns away and clearing his throat, he says, gruffly, "It's my new location. You know, if you want to write."

She smiles up at him, a sweet, clear smile, and he feels that it's worth the embarrassment. She closes her fingers over it and nods, just once, eyes never leaving his face.

**xvi. Letters**

It has been practically a year since he was last moved, and today he is told he may go back to his old post. He agrees, trying not to seem too eager. On the day he comes back, he strolls in the office with a bang, literally, making her jump. She looks up at him guiltily, but pales when she sees it's him. She jumps up awkwardly and gives him a half-salute, half-bow.

"Colonel," she says, "We expected you back tomorrow."

Not one for too much small talk, he crosses the distance between them and he holds out a thick package of letters. All addressed to him, in her neat, straight print. Inside, the letters are short, sometimes, or spilling over with too many words. He deposits them in front of her, eyes holding something unreadable. She looks at the package too, expecting maybe, she doesn't know, but something. He clears his throat, once, twice.

"Thanks for writing." She looks up at him, waiting, for the something more. She raises one pale eyebrow and, _dammit_, he feels a blush spread on his cheeks. They both know it has to come from him, but she wonders if he has the courage. He raises his head defiantly.

"_Thanks…Riza."_

She smiles, once more, and turns back to her work.

"_You're welcome, Roy."_

**xvii. Laughter**

He laughs at her, a deep, rich sound. She dislikes being laughed at, however, so she frowns, although she doesn't know what has happened. She fixes her stare on him and clears her throat. When he ignores her, she clears her throat _louder _to make a point. He finally stops laughing to look at her through watery eyes. He sniffs, trying to retain _some _dignity but his next words stop her.

"Sometimes, Hawkeye, you make me laugh."

She _loves _his laugh.

**xviii. Fall**

She knows this is so against protocol, it's not even funny. He knows that this is breaking every rule under "Relationships Within the Military" in the military rule book, but now, it's impossible to stop. Their lips meet once, again, and soon, they both lose count. They stare into each other's eyes, and for once, they give up control and let themselves fall.

**xix. Glass**

She shoots once, and the windowpane of the building shatters. Her marksmanship, perfect as usual, hits the intended target, leaving a mere bullet wound in his chest, straight through the heart. Her colonel wanders inside and removes the papers that the spy has been collecting and looks up through the window, at her. He smiles, and she knows he is pleased.

Her attention, however, is drawn to the glass littering the floor. They wink back up at her, practically blinding her with the rainbows that bounce off each shard. And she feels something close to remorse, and she wonders what would have, could have happened if she had not chosen this path.

**xx. Regret**

At night, when he is alone, and although these nights are rare, he wakes up sometimes, in the middle of the night, in a cold sweat and he has to breathe a few times, to make sure that he is here, where he is supposed to be. Because although he will never admit it, this is why he likes to keep...company at night. Because when he is drunk and his head is spinning, he can no longer hear the screams of children and smell the rotten stench of burning flesh.

Because, sometimes, he realizes, he _regrets _what he has done.

**xxi. Mirrors**

She hates mirrors. They remind her of her flaws. Mockingly, or at least, it seems so, they bounce them back to her, glaringly obvious, for just anyone to walk past and see. This is why she hates mirrors, because they remind her of all the imperfections that are on the surface and all the reasons why he cannot love her.

He loves mirrors. He cannot go a day without checking his appearance, trying to smooth back that unruly hair, trying to flick away specks of dust that are not there. He wouldn't call himself vain, however, just cautious. After all, he liked to think that whatever he did, he had to do it in style. This is why he loves mirrors, because they tell him that there is something that he can always keep beautiful.

**xxii. Duty**

Today, when he is cornered, up against a wall, with no way out and the rain falling around him, he hears a gun go off, and his assailant falls, blood spurting from a bullet wound. He looks up, and he sees her. He stands up, trying to retain some form of dignity. She gives him a hand up, and he pats her shoulder.

"Good eye, lieutenant."

She looks up at him, and steps aside, because she is not used to physical contact. She shrugs, though, as if it wasn't anything.

"Just doing my duty, sir."

**xxiii. Satisfaction**

He runs his hands over the leather of the seat, and amazes at his office. This is everything he wanted, right? Hawkeye walks in, ever the loyal officer. She salutes him, missing his new nameplate by inches. He sits, facing the window, face unreadable as he looks down at the new military cemetery is, gravestones tall and official looking. She knows what he is looking at, and hesitantly, she walks over to stand next to him. She rests her hand on his shoulder, lightly.

"Are you satisfied, sir?"

He hesitates, a second or two too long, and he gets up, shaking off her hand.

"Of course I am. This is everything I've ever wanted." But there is a question in the statement, and she knows and he knows that maybe, he'll give this all up to have them back.

**xxiv. Drama**

Havoc runs into Roy's office, bumping past Riza without even an apology. Riza scowls after him, but when she sees the tears streaming down his face, she sighs, and lets it go, for today. She'll bug him about it tomorrow. Havoc throws him down on Roy's papers and Roy feels a sadistic pleasure in seeing them get everywhere, a few even flying out the window. Havoc blathers on about some girl who he met on the street, but it turned out she was married and then her husband chased him down for flirting with his wife. Roy made the right sympathetic noises here and there, and even offered him his handkerchief.

Riza lets out a big sigh, and shakes her head, turning back to her own work. _This is why I don't bother in romance. Too much drama._

**xxv. Forever**

Roy turns to Riza, his eyes serious.

"This is it, Hawkeye. We might not make it out here alive. Last chance."

She shakes her head, as if in disbelief why he is even bothering _asking _her this.

"Sir. I told you I'd be by your side _forever _right? It's not going to change _now._"

He smiles, because that's exactly what he wanted to hear. And secretly, though he knows that she doesn't mean _forever _like that, he will wish she does. That she really will be by his side.

Forever.


End file.
